Spiritual Boredom

I love to quote movies, and one of my favorites is Wayne's World. There is a line that goes something like this: "I once thought I had mono for an entire year...just turns out I was really bored." Well, it turns out that Wayne and I are not so different. As some may know (or if you read my post "Some Assembly Required" a few months ago), it has been a long winter in my neck of the woods, and not just because of the insane windchill. I have found myself submerged in what I could only describe as "a depression." I never thought I was fully depressed, but definitely down and not my usual optimistic and enthusiastic self. Turns out what I thought was sadness, bitterness and borderline despair was really just "spiritual boredom." Let me explain.

I love to read. Web surfing, Facebook and email have demanded a majority of my love of reading of late, but when I can pry myself away from the screen or the banal fantasy baseball "research," I will immerse myself in one of several books I bring home with me from the office week to week. I've been chewing on a few good ones since the beginning of the year, never really intending to read them cover to cover, but take in just enough to feed whatever part of me that was hungry. There was one book that I felt nudged to take home for quite a long time before I finally did: "The Wisdom of Stability - Rooting Faith in a Mobile Culture" by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. Have you ever read something that truly nailed it for you? As in, you can't highlight or underline it fast enough because it resonated so profoundly with how you're feeling? Thank you Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, because your words half-way through this book did exactly this for my soul.

I could easily quote the entire book in this post. But I'm going to try not to do that. Instead, I feel I need to share that I am 100% with Jonathan on the importance of stability or "staying put and paying attention where you are", not only in a world which is becoming increasingly individualistic and void of community (how many of you reading this can name all the neighbors on your block?), but in the church where it is commonly known that ministers live and work as "transients." I have both heard and told others that we ministers are nomads - going everywhere but belonging nowhere. The last few decades pastors like me have been encouraged to move whenever and however often the Spirit says that it is time to go. The problem with this is that we all have the freedom of making ourselves ready, whenever and however often we choose, to pursue greener pastures. Granted sometimes opportunities and invitations come to us whether we feel we're ready or not, but in the mind of most newly ordained pastors like myself, the message is clear and simple: after three to five years in the first place you serve, have your bags packed and ready. Its a message that is simultaneously comforting and disturbing. Wilson-Hartgrove's Wisdom of Stability hits a nerve because of how counter-cultural and anti-first call the idea that "if we want to rise up into God's being, nothing is more important than rooting ourselves in a place where God can happen." And so, upon accepting this opportunity to serve a rural west-central congregation that is twenty minutes in every direction from the nearest gas station, I opened myself to the possibility of staying longer than five years. Gasp!

But its been incredibly difficult for me to wrap myself around this goal. I'm an outgoing, extroverted, adventure seeking, ideas man who desires to revolutionize everything I set my mind to...who can literally be snowed in and see no other human being outside of family for days on end. Where I'm going with this is simple: the concept of staying put in one place is both powerfully enticing and powerfully depressing, depending on the day. It was the latter for much of the last six months...until I read chapter five and realized that what I've been feeling is normal. I cannot share here how relieved I am. In the end, I haven't necessarily been depressed and needing a change in scenery or profession, but rather very much "spiritually bored" and in need of a change of perspective and reminder that "staying is itself a process, as growth is the product of struggle."

And so I'll leave you with an excerpt that was profoundly comforting as I achieved a level of solidarity on this issue I have not experienced since embarking on the task of staying put in this place nearly two years ago when I said "yes."

In a conversation about Jesus' instruction to welcome strangers, a Benedictine friend once confessed to me that the real challenge of hospitality is opening the door again and again to the brothers he lives with. "We Benedictines are supposed to welcome everyone as Christ," he said, "but sometimes when a brother comes through the door I mumble to myself, 'O Christ, it's you again." I laughed at the joke because I know too well how spiritual boredom can lead to a quiet disdain for the people I share life with. Little habits and phrases wear on my nerves as I ignore the needs of the people I have promised myself to in marriage, baptism, and community life. Washing their dishes makes me weary, and I avoid conversation. The thought of going on like this forever is overwhelming. Boredom tempts us to give up on the people God has given to us.

Can't give up now. Won't. I've put in too much to walk away because it's difficult. Spiritually bored or not, I trust that God is at work here and the call is for more patience and trust, and not to simply hit the eject button or to start planning my escape route. I plan to stay put and pay attention, nothing more, nothing less.

"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5 And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." - Romans 5:3-5.

The Wisdom of Stability
25 Great Wayne's World Quotes

Mystery Dwelling

Two terribly mysterious and terribly tragic events in one week have my mind-wheels spinning on overdrive. One involving as massive search for a missing jetliner and another involving a small community in rural Minnesota. Both events have caused immense grief and broken hearts for the families and communities of victims. And both have more questions than answers, an incredible amount of mystery in world seemingly teeming with an abundance of explanations.

I've never been thrust into such wonder on both the macro and micro scale at the same time. Most days I am quite comfortable with mystery. There is something thrilling about the unknown. There is also a degree of freedom in a lack of knowledge, an exercise in letting go of having to know the how and why of everything that happens. We usually don't have much choice when the unknown occurs in our lives - a surprising diagnosis, a sudden turn of events, a modern day miracle - we only have the choice of how to respond. So, I can deal with that kind of mystery. I can let go of my need to control and force myself to stay in the moment and assess the 'what now' and the 'so what' rather than obsess over the how's and why's of life's unanswerable questions.

So it goes without saying that I am feeling beyond unsettled and uncomfortable with the mysterious this time around. I understand that a football field sized airplane is still hugely under-matched compared to the vastness of the earth's oceans. I understand that there are many ways to screw up a search and that without sufficient radar or operable transmitters, recovering this Malaysian 777 jetliner is difficult in every sense. But this kind of disappearance is something I'm only okay with when watching television or sitting in a darkened theater. Asking me to accept that in this day and age a flight full of human beings aboard one of the safest modes of transportation in the world can vanish and elude investigators for five days is such a tall order - one that I am incredibly uncomfortable and fearful with. To think that I or a family member could one day board a plane and in two hours time disappear is unfathomable. Disturbing. Maddening. Terrifying. There are no words to adequately describe what happened to Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 on March 8, 2014.

The next mystery hits much closer to home. While it is saddening and awful to think about what is a reality for the families of 239 missing and presumed-dead people on the other side of the world, it is even more devastating when the mystery hits in your own communal backyard. I don't know any of the persons aboard that airplane, nor any of their family members. But when I heard the news that a senior in high school died after fleeing a party in the early hours of a long-awaited spring evening in a neighboring rural town - time stood still in a completely different manner. My heart broke for more than Michael's family - but for an entire community from which he was known and loved. I had the privilege of living and serving in that community for one year while on my pastoral internship, so I know what kind of void a death like his leaves behind. I don't know that a place like that ever fully recovers. There are a few more details available here than there are overseas, but the questions are no less troubling. As much as we want to comfort one another amidst the aftermath of this enormous loss, there's just as much head-shaking and disappointment in the circumstances leading up to this very preventable death. But somehow, at least for right now, our judgment and finger-pointing must take a backseat to our prayers for peace and healing.

For me, dwelling in mystery is usually time well spent. Unfortunately, this is not one of those times.

Figure. It. Out.